My Story

I grabbed my still packed travel suitcase and made my way to the children's rooms taking one more look before my journey. They were growing so fast. They were such good kids. I paused for an extra second at my daughter's door. She was a teenager. My princess was 13 and growing into the beautiful young woman I had always dreamed she would be. She was going to break hearts for sure. Through no fault of her own, mine would be the first.

I left a note on my way out the door. 'Going home to take care of my mother's things. Probably won't take longer than a week. Jacob'.

***

As if you couldn't tell by now, anger came next.

My anger grew little by little during each of the 1,027 miles I drove to my hometown.

I was angry at myself first. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not punch that asshole in the face? Why didn't I confront my cheating bitch of a wife? That one as easy. I loved her or at least I had until recently. Confrontation would lead to confirmation which might actually be worse than what I was feeling at that moment. That also meant I was a coward. Why was I a fucking coward?

No one and nothing escaped the rage burning in my mind. Our pastor, our friends, my mother, her mother, and the state patrolman who gave me the well deserved speeding ticket. None were safe from my internal wrath. Everyone received an ass chewing in my head. Everyone except my children. They were blameless.

My loving wife? She received the worst of it. My emotions would swing wildly from pleasant thoughts of my children, to depressing thoughts of what I knew was now going to be my life, to morbidly vengeful thoughts about how to carry out a devastating revenge for the years of lies.

The saying is that there is fine line between love and hate. They should add there is a fine line between a blind, white hot rage and complete madness. That is what it felt like to me.

It hadn't taken long before the events of my week had taking their toll on my body and I began to tire. But at the same time adrenaline was coursing through me. I was literally too wired to sleep. I have never been in a situation where my life depended on my next decision. I have never been so scared that I thought my inaction would cost me my life. But in those moments I knew what the fight or flight response felt like after it had been dragging on for days.

Fortunately, distance seemed to calm my nerves. I stopped three times during my trip for fuel and food and power naps in my car. I finished my drive in a little over 23 hours, exhausted and depressed.

***

This is my story. In a Hollywood script this would be the perfect time to insert the quirky snarky supporting actor who would help me blaze a trail through my disaster of a life. For other stories on this site in this category this would be where I ran into my secret high school crush who, coincidently, had secretly loved me for years. Maybe over a cup of coffee we would fall madly in love and live happily ever after. I don't fault the screen writers or the nubile authors who write these storylines. Hell, I've let my imagination run wild on occasion and written those thoughts down so that others could try and analyze my fetishes and neuroses. But real life is never that perfect. I have found life to be a tad more...brutal.

My hometown hadn't changed. The people were basically the same as well. There were few newcomers, the oldies but goodies and even a few people I had always hoped to never see again. They were all 'pleased to see me' and 'sorry about my mom's passing' and each 'hoped I'd stay in touch'. They were just platitudes of course. More than likely I would never return here again. I had only been back a half dozen times since high school and now I had no reason to return.

At the end of four days, I was certain of two things: my mother had led a peaceful, full and basically happy life and the memories I had of her were pleasant. The reality was just a tad different. Mom was one tough bitch; a straight to the point, no pulling punches, no time for bullshit kind of woman. It was what I loved and hated about her most. On the good side, I never had to worry about what my mother thought about me or my choices. She would just let me know. On the flip side it probably would have been nice to get a bit of unconditional reassurance from time to time. Instead she taught me to be independent and to fend for myself. I guess all in all I was pretty lucky despite my childhood desires for a Miss Suzy Homemaker type of mother.

There were boxes piled up in the living room. Some that would be delivered to the church for charity. Most that would end up with the trash. There were no family heirlooms to pack carefully for my journey home, just some pictures and letters and a few items that held a special meaning for me. The pile that I was keeping was the smallest in the group.

Unfortunately, while packing things away had been a nice distraction from my problems it did nothing to solve them. Honestly, I wasn't certain they could be solved. My anger and frustrations had dissipated only slightly. They had been buried, but not

replaced, by unanswered questions. And so, during those four days, I wrote those questions down. That was what I was good at. One hundred and twenty-six questions. Questions that would, hopefully, lead to an answer the only question important to me that I hadn't written down. Did I have a marriage left to go home to?

I spent my evenings rereading them and typing them into an email. I reordered them from time to time, trying to move from what I felt were the least important questions, things like the sex and the affair I knew about, to the most important ones. The important things. Things that would have a lasting impact on my family. I spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would consider acceptable answers. Often I found that I couldn't come up with an acceptable one and I was forced to substitute a 'what could I live with' response.

When I finished answering my own questions, I emailed them to my wife with the short note, 'I am going to need your answers to these questions. In writing would be best.'. My thinking was pretty simple. Her response would tell me a lot. If she went to see a lawyer in preparation for a divorce, they would never let her put her thoughts in writing and I wouldn't get any answers. That would be all I needed to know.

It happened almost as soon as I hit send.

Doubt. That's what came next.

There are things in your life that you just take for granted. I don't mean things that you ignore and hope that they will still be around when you start paying attention to them again. I mean things that are just always true; things that become the foundation of the life that you build. Sometimes, they are big things. Sometimes, they are small things. But they are always true.

Your mom loves you regardless of the stupid things that you've done. You can count on it. It will bring your comfort in your time of need. There are lots of them. The sun will always rise in the morning. The tax man comes around every year. Your children are yours.

If you are not a father, this next part might be lost on you. The very first moment you hold your child you start to dream. You dream of what you hope your child's life will be like. You hope you can deliver on that dream and then you spend every single day with a new goal, a new task, a new life to be responsible for. And regardless of any trials or tribulations you are rewarded everyday with the love of a child. You are someone's hero, someone's protector, someone's entire world.

Little by little, day by day, their world broadens. That's when you start to recognize the mistakes you made and you try to steer them clear of those same pitfalls. Then your children make mistakes of their own. And you help them recover and you comfort them. It's hard work and there is no break. It is the definition of full time. And it is worth it.

All of my children had wildly different personalities. Even the twins were different from each other. But one of the greatest things about being a father, if you like yourself even a little bit, is finding the things that you passed on to your children. Your quirks, the little idiosyncrasies, the things that make you...well you. When you see them passed on, you can't help but smile.

I could try to write all of them down, but many are just personal things that would be hard to describe. But they were there. Some are easy to describe. All my children loved music. That was a big part of both Stacy and me. The boys all looked like me, right down to the straight hair that curled more and more as they got older.

My daughter was daddy's little princess and my favorite. I know, I know. Parents don't have favorites. I loved all of my children equally, but my daughter was the cutest thing that ever walked the planet and she ALWAYS had to be seated right next to me, or sitting on my lap, or holding my hand. Our bond started from her birth when she often wouldn't stop crying until she was in my arms. It had continued right up until the night before my last work trip when we went to the movies on another of our father/daughter dates.

My daughter was almost a clone of her mother. She had beautiful eyes. When she was a little girl they were brownish. People used to say looked like mine. I never thought so. The color was close, but the shape was different. The more she aged the more the green appeared. She had those cute tiny dimples, her mother's beautiful smile and hair and those piercing green eyes. The eyes of Robert Paulson.

Now I knew and it rocked me to the core. Was everything I believed a lie? Or just that.

***

I don't know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that I took my time driving back home. On the good side of the equation was the dissipation of my rage. I wanted to make good decisions going forward and my anger seemed to be a distraction from that goal. On the downside, being alone left me plenty of time to question everything about my life. Every moment that I had shared with my wife. Everything that she had ever told me. I ended my journey jittery and feeling like I had no core set of beliefs to hold on to. I was a shell of a man wandering aimlessly through life.

I had stopped several times during my journey back mostly at the national parks and monuments, Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, the Badlands, in a futile attempt to recapture some of the innocence of my youth. I even bought a ticket to Reptile Gardens, while reminiscing on my drive. The displays and activities were much the same, but not nearly as captivating as I remembered. The thing that I remembered as exciting now seemed trite and a little trashy. I silently wondered if this was how all the memories in my life would end up.

I had no idea what to expect at home. But I knew what I wouldn't accept. Don't worry, I can already hear you. Another wimp husband who is going to ignore his wife's infidelity. I can tell you that was not my thinking. I guess it is up to you to believe it. My thought process was rather simple. I didn't know enough. I didn't know what I wanted to do. Faced with a lack of information and an absence of a well thought our plan of action I decided to do what I did best. Get my wife to talk to me, get the real story, and make a fact based decision that was best for me.

Was I surprised at what was waiting for me at home? Not really. Did it move me off my plan? Not even a little bit. What was the difference between my house and a morgue? A morgue housed actual dead people and my house only had the walking dead. My children were all sitting in the living room watching a movie. I accepted their hugs with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Then the chatter began. How was my trip? Did I see anything cool? Then came the reports on things that had happened at the house. The strangest thing though was the complete silence from my daughter. She had taken her normal place at my side and proceeded with her normal hug. But she hadn't said a word which was unusual.

I spoke to kids for a few minutes, then I made my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. My daughter followed.

"Something is wrong with mom, daddy. She has barely come out of your room since you left for grandma's."

"OK, honey. Thanks for telling me. I'll go check on her in a minute."

Our first meeting wasn't what I expected. Hell, who am I kidding? I had no idea what to expect. Stacy looked like shit. Her hair was a mess. It was clear she had been crying. Our bedroom smelled like something had died. She looked surprised when I entered the room and kept an uncomfortable look on her face for awhile as we sat in a long silence.

After several minutes, Stacy moved towards her bedside table to retrieve some papers and started to hand them to me. My heart began to race as I considered what she might be giving me. I let out a small sigh when I saw that they were hand written answers to my questions. I stared at them for a minute, then folded them in two and set them down at my side.

I am not sure I can adequately describe my feelings at that moment. They were feelings that lasted for years. Conflicted maybe they best way to describe them. Did I love Stacy? Sure. Did I want to punch her in the face? Yep. Was I ever going to do that? Never.

Her first question could have been any one of a thousand important things that were running through my head. I really believe if her first question had been anything else, things may have turned out differently. I am not sure what you think about me. Not to be dismissive, but I know I wouldn't have given a flying fuck then and I am not certain I do now. I just know that there was an absolutely perfect set of circumstances that could have saved my marriage. Her question may have been the one thing that was certain to derail it.

"How did you find out, Jacob?"

I did not want to end my marriage. My entire world, friends, work, sense of self worth, revolved entirely around my marriage. But of all things that I had learned and heard, that single question hurt almost as much as anything else.

"I honestly don't think that is important and, frankly, I am shocked that it was the first thing that came out of your mouth."

We sat in silence for a long time before she spoke again. At least the next questions were better.

"What are you thinking, Jacob? What are you going to do?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

I just sat there for a long time. Together in a room. Alone in my thoughts. Then I stood up and left the room, returning to spend the evening with my children. After the kids went to bed, I spent the first of many nights in the guest room. Was it irrational to be pissed off that I made the decision not to sleep in my own bed? Maybe. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning.

I spent the next few weeks around a frightened Stacy. She was completing all her daily tasks with care, as if her life depended on it. She was freakishly quiet and she literally jumped every time I spoke. Even that pissed me off. Was I some type of maniacal wife beater now?

I read the confession from my slut wife ten days after she handed it to me. I won't go through her entire list of answers. There were only a few that were very important to me.

Is Jessica my daughter? No. She is not your biological daughter. But she is your daughter in every other way. Please don't ever doubt that.

If not, how long have you known she wasn't mine? I always suspected she might not be, but hoped that she was. I knew for certain after her three month check-up, when they told me her blood type. I would have known anyway when she was six.

If you knew she wasn't mine, why didn't you tell me? I was afraid that you would leave me. I still am afraid. Terrified actually.

Who else knows? My mother and Tricia. I don't know for certain, but based on a few conversations I am convinced that your mom knew, too.

How many other times have you cheated on me? One time. Just once. I swear on everything that I hold dear.

I had the answers to the questions I had asked. I still had no idea what I wanted. My choices were simple enough. I could stay married to Stacy and live with a feeling of someone stabbing me in the heart every single day. I could divorce her and start over feeling like I had shot myself in the head. What would you have chosen? You probably know. You're absolutely certain. I didn't and I wasn't.

And so we lived for months in an uncomfortable silence. Until the day that Stacy caught me alone. I don't remember the exact set of circumstances that led to us being alone, without any children. I know I had painstakingly tried to avoid being alone with Stacy. But it happened.

"Jacob, we have to talk about this. We can't go on like this forever."

"What makes you think I want to go on at all? Let alone talk about this."

"Don't say things like that, Jacob. It was so long ago. A lifetime has passed since that weekend. You can't really want to through all that we have built together down the drain because of one stupid weekend!"

"A lifetime. That sounds about right. It has a nice ring to it."

"God Damn it, Jacob! You HAVE TO TALK TO ME!"

That was when I lost my temper. I honestly don't remember ever cursing at my wife or even raising my voice to her. Our arguments, even at their worst, were more of the passive aggressive silent disputes. But, I just couldn't take the pressure any more.

"FINE! You want to talk? So talk. Talk to me about your stupid weekend. How would you describe it? I heard a fantastic summary from your fuck buddy! Or was he your stud?! Give me all the juicy details. How was it for you?! Did you enjoy yourself?! Did you enjoy humiliating me?! Go ahead. Let's talk about it."

Stacy shied away momentarily but eventually continued.

"That's not what I wanted to talk about, Jacob. I wanted to talk about us."

"Oh, well excuse me for believing that I was entitled to some answers. I guess you got used to being the only one in the know. Oh, wait, that's right! It wasn't just you. You got to share your dirty little secret with your mom and best friend. Maybe we should start there? Can you tell me, my loving wife, why I deserved so much less consideration about the state of our marriage and the consequences of your actions than YOUR FUCKING MOTHER?!"

"I tried to do what was best for..."

"For YOU Stacy. You did what was best for you!! No ME! Not US! Just you! So don't fucking tell me what we have to talk about!"

"Jacob, I...I..."

"He said you were the biggest slut he ever met. The biggest whore that ever walked the face of the earth. The BEST FUCK OF HIS LIFE! So tell me all about it, DEAR!"

Stacy sat there with unspent tears in her eyes, mouth agape, color draining from her face. I didn't care. So I looked her right in her eyes and whispered.

"The next time you sit down in front of me with your bull shit requests to talk about 'us', be ready to tell me the fucking truth. And don't think for one second I'll make it easy for you. I'm going to double check every answer you give me."

To be honest I am not sure how she lasted that long. It wasn't that I was being intentionally cruel. But I was certainly not being nice. I often left a room if she was in it. I never answered her with any more words than were absolutely necessary. I slept in the guest room. And we hadn't really talked about anything meaningful since my return.

It was like that for months.

I had looked into divorce. It was the way I was leaning. But at that time, it would have been devastating financially both personally and professionally. Then there were my children. I could not bear the thought of being apart from my kids. I did not want to be a part time father. I just wasn't wired that way. So that left me with very little choice.